


Feelings are stupid but i guess i am too

by nohbodyknows



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Post-Squip, Self-Harm, rant piece kinda, relationship isn't really explicit, sorry jer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohbodyknows/pseuds/nohbodyknows
Summary: Life is stressful when there isn't a supercomputer telling you what to do all the time





	Feelings are stupid but i guess i am too

If you asked me exactly when it started I wouldn't be able to tell you. I've never really been good with dates or beginnings or anything for that matter. I can tell you how it started. It was only a little thing at first. Whenever I was real stressed or nervous I would pinch at my skin, it was almost like a reflex, but when I did it everything was just a little bit okay and it was a little easier to breathe. And when that stopped working I realized that scratching at my arms helped a lot more. Instead of having a breakdown in the middle of my English presentation I could just scratch and scratch until the panic was replaced by a pleasant numbing pain. When you're focused on the stinging of your skin you can almost pretend like there's not a whole class of people sitting there waiting for you to mess up counting every stutter and pause. I think that was sixth grade, maybe. But I couldn't scratch when I chewed my fingernails down to the nub, so when I watched my mom's car peel out of the driveway I scrambled around my room until I found a pushpin in my drawer and I scratched and tore and bled until the feelings ebbed away and the tears dried and the blood ran. I didn't cry when I rinsed my wrist in the sink, or when I pressed the toilet paper on the cut until it stopped bleeding. There was only that pleasant dull nothing that shooed away any dumb emotions I had. Feelings are stupid. They make your body do stupid stuff you can't even control. Everyone knows when you're nervous cause your whole body shakes. Everyone knows when you're upset cause there's tears in your eyes. Everyone knows when your flustered cause your whole face goes red every time Michael so much as touches you. Stupid feelings. I want them all to stop. I want this numb to consume me forever. Numb is nice. It’s not irrational or panicky, it’s calm and reasonable and makes it easier to sort things out. 

 

“So, Jeremy, tell me, what would you say makes you stand out from your peers?”

 

What? Oh, right, I’m practicing for my scholarship interview. I was in my head again. I hate when I do that. Just focus. Answer the question. Michael's taking time out of his day to help you so answer him. But, there's nothing that makes me stand out. I'm average in everything I do. I get good enough grades but colleges don't care about that, everyone gets good grades they want people who go out and do things like travel and volunteer and I haven't done any of that that, oh no I’m taking to long to answer Michael's getting impatient but I don't have an answer I don't stand out I'm breathing too fast calm down calm down. I grab the pencil I was using to take notes and tap it against my thigh under the table. Don't cry what are you crying for you're literally just talking to Michael. You're sitting at his dinner table just talking there's nothing to cry about you fucking baby, he's trying to help you. The pencil moves from tapping on my thigh to resting against my wrist. I move the sharp point back and forth and back forth and the knot in my chest loosens and the tears in my eyes go away and it's like I opened up a valve in my wrist letting out all the tension and fear and anxiety. Okay, remember how to look professional in an interview. Back straight. Eye contact. Okay, no, I can't handle Michael looking at me with that  _ look _ on his face. It's that look that hurts me every time cause it's filled with concern and pity and I don't wanna be pitied I don't deserve it. No, dammit, stop crying, scratch harder, calm down. 

 

“I-I, um, I can- I’m,” my eyes scan my notes for answer but nothing sticks. I don't have an answer. “Fuck.”

 

“Jer, what are you doing?”

 

Shit shit shit. I shake my head a little too hard. “I can't answer this one next question.”

 

“Jeremy.” 

 

“N-nothing next question.” He looks so angry I can't look at him I just have to focus on the next question. I have them all written down on my paper along with my notes. Okay. Why do I deserve this scholarship? I- I don't. Oh God I don't deserve it there's nothing I've  _ done _ to deserve it. 

 

“Put your hands on the table.” Michael taps on the wood to get my attention. 

 

“W-what?” It takes me off guard. That's not a question from the list. Why won't he stop looking at me like that?

 

“Put your hands on the table. It'll, uh, look more professional.”

 

The pencil falls from my hand and clatters on the tile floor as I place my hands on top of my notebook. I can't see my notes anymore, but I don't wanna move my hands that's too much movement it'll look like I'm fidgeting and I can't fidget that's not professional. Neither is crying for NO FUCKING REASON. Why am I crying what can't I stop why am I like this? I can't breathe. I can't breathe. 

 

Michael’s arm launches across the table and grabs my hand. I want to pull back (I can't let him see the scratches otherwise that means I just did this for attention, I didn't swear I didn't) but his grip is too strong. I can barely hear myself  _ stop Michael let go stop please _ but he’s already pulling up the sleeve of my sweater and staring at all the scratches new and old and he can see where the pencil started to draw blood. 

 

“What the fuck, Jeremy.” Angry words but they sounded concerned but it should've been angry, Michael deserves to be angry. I deserve to be yelled at for being so stupid. The Squip would've yelled at me. 

 

I want to go home. I want to crawl under my bed and pretend that nothing matters and that there's no one but me and I have nothing to care about but I can't cause Michael literally picks me up and carries me to the bathroom. He's so much stronger than me. He's always so strong. I admire that about him. He knows what he wants and just does it and he doesn't give a shit what people think. 

 

I’m too weak to stand (what a loser, can't even stand, can't do anything) so he props me up against the sink and stands behind me as he runs my wrist under the water. It hurts so bad but not as much as knowing that Michael is being forced to pick up after my mess again and again. He's been so strong for me. He helped me after my mom left. He helped me when my dad gave up. He helped me when I didn't wanna go back to school after the play and face all of the people who'd hate me, who deserved to hate me but didn't. Michael, of all people, should be hating me, not carefully setting me down on the floor and pressing toilet paper to my wrist trying to clean up my dumb stupid fucking mistake. He uses another piece to wipe away the snot and tears on my face while his other hand is running through my hair. 

 

I want to apologize, but I don't think he can hear me through the way my breath hitches with each word. “I'm sorry Michael ‘m sorry I'm so stupid I'm sorry I just hate how I'm like this and I don't know why I'm like this and I just want all the feelings to stop and I want it to just go away and and I wish the Squip would tell me how to stop I want it back.”

  
  


“Don't you fucking say that.” Michael puts his hands down and his face goes hard and angry and I whine cause I messed up. I'm too damn emotional to explain the complexities of the thought process that led me to say that. I don't want the Squip back, I hate that stupid thing and it ruined my life, but with all the shit it put me though it was nice to not have to think. To have something controlling my thoughts and emotions for me so I could focus on acting and doing things right. It's not that I want the Squip back, I just want all my feelings to go away. I wanna get out of my head. But if course I can't make the thoughts work well into words that make sense so I whimper instead. “It was so much easier to let it do things than to feel”

 

That wasn't the right thing to say cause Michael looks angrier. See what I mean! The Squip would've logically said something for me that would fix everything and calm us down but nooooo. I can't stand looking at Michael while he yells at me, even though he has every right to. Even though I deserve it. Weak.  _ Pathetic. _

 

“Oh!” He smacks his hands on his thighs in frustration and I flinch. “So letting that piece of shit ruin our friendship and fuck with your head and almost destroy the school was  _ so  _ much better than having to deal with feelings? Are they really that bad Jeremy?”

 

No, they really weren't, so many people have it worse. Rich has it worse. His dad is an asshole drunk who forces Rich to hide his relationship with Jake. Jake has it worse. He doesn't even have parents. He lives alone in a shitty apartment he barely pays for himself. Jeremy is fine. He should be fine. I should be fine and not freaking out over tiny things that don't matter. 

 

I can't form words so I just sob like a stupid child and try scratching at my wrist but Michael grabs both of my hands tightly. 

 

“This has to stop. I'm sorry for snapping, I didn't mean to yell that was supposed to sound... better. I don't want you to hurt yourself again, and I don't want you to become a robotic asshole and ditch me again. Yeah, that might be selfish, but dammit I need you too”

 

“You don't need me, I'm useless weak garbage”

 

“Shut up no you're not you're awesome. Jeremy freakin’ Heere. And honestly you are the only thing keeping my head above the water right now. So don't think that you're just there, you're helping me too”

 

I hold my breath, trying to stop myself. He’s right, I know he’s right, my head just refuses to let me accept that I’m worth anymore than nothing. My face is red, it hurts. 

 

“Hey, breathe buddy, it’s alright.”

 

I exhale in a disgusting shaky sob with snot and spit drooling down my chin. Michael holds me anyway. I don’t deserve him. We sit there on the cold bathroom floor until my breathing finally evens out to more than just desperate gasps. We sit there a little longer. There’s something comforting about the bathroom floor. The chilly tile pressed against my warm red skin makes me feel good. Michael holding me feels good. Grounded.

 

“Are you okay now?”

 

I shrug. 

 

“Wanna go play video games?”

 

I nod, then shake my head. “Th-the interview…”

 

He rubs my back. It feels nice. “That can wait for when you’re feeling more calm up here.” He taps my head. “For now let’s just chill.”

 

And so the rest of the day is spent up in my room. Chips and snack cake wrappers litter my floor, beanbags pulled up too close to the T.V., and Michael sits next to me hyper-focused on the screen. In this moment I have a happy little realization. No matter if I make this interview or not, no matter if I even go to college or get a job or whatever, he will always be here for me. And I will be forever grateful for that.  


End file.
